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rosewaterandivy · 7 months

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Epilogue | for once in my life

Summary: Rumor has it, that hometown hero-turned-teacher Steve Harrington is hot for teacher. The English teacher next door to him at Hawkins High, who also happens to be his childhood friend, that is.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x chaotic!dumbass reader

W.C: 5.7k

Warnings: No use of y/n - reader goes by the nickname Trouble instead, yearning, Tuscan summers, a flashback or two, a wedding, and my usual filth™️

A/N: Thanks for bearing with me while I worked on an ending for our two beloved idiots. 🥺 Truthfully, part of me put off writing the epilogue simply because I didn’t want to let Trouble and Steve go— they’re so near and dear to me! But, all good things must come to an end and I hope I’ve given them a fitting one. Thank you all for reading along and sharing your joy with me, it’s been incredible to experience! 💜💜💜

Series masterlist | Series Playlist | trouble will find me (for Trouble, most ardently) | rebel without a clue (for Steve, with love)

The distance was difficult, only mitigated by the positively unreal Tuscan summer. Though the university was in Bologna in the Emilia-Romagna region, since your classes centered on Dante, you along with a few other students, called Florence your home away from home for the summer.

The sun shone bright and hot against the ancient stones of Palazzo Medici Riccardi, and felt good against your back as you lazed in the garden and courtyard on a rare day off from combing through medieval texts in jam-packed libraries and dust motes floating through the air.

Crossing the bustling street you popped into your local gelateria only to be greeted with an exuberant, “Bella!” from Alessandro behind the counter. “Finally you grace us with your presence,” He teases, already scooping out a serving of arancia rossa sorbetto for you into a cup.

“Grazie,” You say with a smile, taking the sorbetto from his outstretched hand. “Had a slow start to the morning is all, Sandro.”

“Certo, I know how it is,” He says with a knowing wink.

To be fair, the slow start to the day was warranted, given the stress-induced dream you had last night. There you were, minding your own business, thinking about Steve and the voice note he’d left you earlier, and the next thing you know, your brain decided a trip down memory lane was warranted.

“But what do I do about the dress?” Your voice is choked, tongue stumbling over the words.

It hangs in your closet, mocking you. A pink dust bag with an elegant calligraphy card that lists your former wedding date and ex-fiancé’s last name. Robin’s fingers graze the zipper on the garment bag, fingers slowly settling along the pull.

“You could try it on?”

She says it as if she wishes she didn’t have to, as if the next time you would put on the wedding dress would be for the alteration appointment which you had already canceled, along with everything else.

Truthfully, the day you found the dress wasn’t at all what you expected it to be. Sure, you’d looked around online and at a few boutiques with Nancy, Robin, your mother, and would-be mother-in-law. Nothing struck your fancy though, each dress you slipped on had something wrong with it— too tight, too loose, too many embellishments, not enough embellishments, too heavy...

It was Steve who suggested the boutique, actually. One of his mother’s friends had a daughter who’d gotten her dress from a place in Indianapolis and said the service and selection were both top-notch. So you went and made a day trip out of it; Eddie and Steve would drop you and the girls off at the boutique and hang out in the city for the day.

Though, they really did try to weasel their way in to the appointment.

“The fact that you won’t let us join you is misandry.”

“Oh my god,” you laugh. “No, it isn’t, Eds!”

“Okay,” he relents, turning around to face you in the backseat, “Maybe not misandry, but definitely discriminatory. Dudes just wanna have fun!”

Steve laughs, pulling up in front of the boutique, waves to your mother who’s waiting on the sidewalk. “Y’never know,” he teases, “Could need a second opinion in there. Especially once they open the champagne.”

Eddie squawks at that, “You get to try on dresses and drink booze? I’m offended I’ve been left out here.”

Robin opens the backdoor with a roll of her eyes, “No boys allowed, dingus.”

You follow suit, giving Steve a small smile, “Thanks for driving us.”

His gaze softens, eyes meeting yours, “Happy to help. Now, go find a stunner in there for us, will ya?”

With a shake of your head, you bring yourself back to the moment. Sitting on the floor of your former home, moving boxes and tape littering the floor ready for you to pack up the pieces of your life. You look to Robin again, she’s unzipped the garment bag entirely revealing the bodice and skirt of the gown.

She watches you thoughtfully, “I mean, just to see if you still like it? That way we’ll know if we need to pack it or sell it.”

Sighing, you wipe your damp palms against your thighs and stand up. “Yeah,” you breathe, “Okay.”

Between the two of you, you managed to wrestle into the dress. Robin securing the delicate straps as you adjust the cups and situate yourself. The door creaks open to reveal Nancy, her eyes bright with interest.

Robin gives up with her attempts to fix the zipper and numerous buttons on the back, steps aside for Nancy to intervene.

“You’re gorgeous, babe,” Robin says, voice soft. “It looks amazing on you! Same as the day we found it.”

“It’s one hell of a dress.” Nancy agrees, the zipper pull sliding home. “No one would say no to you in that.”

Your laugh comes out as a choked thing, wet and raspy. You wipe your eyes in an effort to prevent any tears from falling. But that was the thing, wasn’t it? He didn’t even have to see the dress to know that he no longer wanted you.

“Thanks, guys.”

Feeling brave enough to look at the mirror, you pause in perusal. And sure enough, it’s a stunner. Delicate lace embellished the corseted bodice, waist nipped just enough to amplify the bust. The skirt flowed down in layers of silk and tulle, the lace accenting the frothy peaks and valleys of it.

Turning, you noticed the low-dip of the back, highlighted by the beginnings of the train. It was a gown meant for a cathedral wedding, a long aisle as you walked toward the altar. A beautiful wedding dress for a wedding that no longer was.

It was getting difficult to justify keeping it.

“Holy shit,” Eddie says, bursting into the room slack-jawed, “Your tits look great!”

Robin smacks him, “No boys allowed, dingus!”

“Yeah, Eddie, don’t you know what a closed door means?”

He grins, “I think we know by now that, no, I clearly do not.”

Hearing footsteps coming down the hall, you turn to Nancy eyes wide. “Nance, the door–”

She shuts it quickly, keeping a hand on the knob. Robin and Eddie stop their bickering long enough to share a meaningful glance. You fist the full of the skirt in both hands and motion for Robin’s help in getting the dress off.

“Uh.” Steve says, voice muffled through the closed door, “What’s going on in there?”

“Nothing!” You’re quick to respond, trying and failing to keep the panic from your voice, “Just packing up some stuff.”

“Riiiight.” He drawls, “Then do I hear Eddie in there talking about tits?”

“Hey man,” Eddie says in his own defense. “I just wandered in here, I know nothing.”

“And why is the door locked?”

Nance’s eyes go to the doorknob as it jiggles in her hand. “We’re trying to figure out what to do with the dress,” she says in a breathless rush.

If looks could kill, Nancy would have dropped to the floor. You narrow your eyes at her and turn with a huff.

“What dress— t-the wedding dress?”

“Yes, Steve.” Robin sighs. “That’s the one.”

The doorknob swivels again, “C’mon, just open the door guys. Eddie’s seen it and I am officially the only one who hasn’t.”

“No!” You shout.

Everyone stops to look at you, eyes wide.

“I mean,” you sputter indignantly, stepping out of the dress and throwing on your overly large t-shirt. “S’not a big deal, I’ll probably sell it, anyway.”

Robin and Eddie maneuver it back into the garment bag with a zip just as Nancy steps away from the door, gaze soft taking in your drawn face.

Steve stumbles in soon after to find you, pants-less, the hem on your shirt grazing your bare thighs, furiously taping boxes closed and scribbling in sharpie.

“Nothing to see here!” You say, stumbling into your bike shorts, tugging them back up. “No siree, nothing at all.”

His chest falls slightly, looking from you to the pink garment bag and back again. Robin catches the minute change in his expression before he’s picking up a box and carrying it out into the hall, not a word to be said about the dress.

And all that runs through your mind is a frantic buzz of ‘It’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride in her wedding dress.’ Never mind that you were no longer a bride and Steve was never your intended groom. Any rational know-how kicked from your thoughts in an echo of your hammering heart.

Why your exhausted brain conjured up that particular episode, you had no idea. The instance was promptly forgotten, the dress stored at your parent’s place, and Steve never brought it up again.

Thank God for that.

Maybe it was because of Nancy and Jonathan’s looming nuptials. He’d popped the question not long after Nance moved in, and it had been full-steam ahead since March. The ceremony was to happen at the end of summer, just as your intensive was wrapping up.

She’d nearly had a coronary when you’d expressed your doubts about being able to attend.

“I’m not getting married without you Trouble, so sweet-talk those profs into letting you sit your exams early and get the fuck back home.” She sighs down the line, “There’s only so much of moping Steve we can take— Eddie is about ready to strangle him.”

You huff a laugh, “Yeah, I’m surprised he’s held out this long.”

“Yeah, she agrees dryly, "We all know you two'll take any excuse to get Steve in a headlock.”

“I don’t need an excuse,” You scoff. “That punk needs to be put in his place.”

You’d taken up Nance on her no-nonsense advice and your professors had graciously allowed you to submit your final papers early in order to make the wedding. Unfortunately, you’d miss out on a few of the celebrations like the bridal shower, bachelorette party, and rehearsal dinner— your flight would be landing just as the festivities began— but, Nancy and Jonathan had agreed to help you surprise the gang.

For all Robin, Eddie, and Steve knew there was absolutely, positively no way you could get out of your scheduled final exams. It sucked, as Robin rightfully pointed out, that you’d have to miss your best friend’s wedding but they all understood.

Steve was more hangdog about it than ever.

“Thanks Sandro,” You call out, plastic spoon in your mouth as you quickly step out the door, leaving a €5 note on the counter before he could stop you with a, “Your money is no good here, bella!”

Your phone buzzes in your bag, ducking under an awning your scramble through your well-worn tote bag to find it, throwing your sunglasses on in the process.

“Hey Fratty light,” You greet with a smile, spooning another cool helping of blood orange flavored ice into your mouth. “Do any good keg stands lately?”

Steve’s laugh nearly eclipses the warmth of the sun on your skin, a surge of heat building low in your stomach.

“At least I didn’t fall off the keg.”

“That was one time!” You scoff, jogging across the street before an aggressive Vespa can mow you down. Pulling the phone away from your mouth, you give the driver the ombrello gesture and shout, “Vaffanculo!”

He chuckles at your outburst, “Tell ‘em babe!”

“I’ll have you know, I stuck that landing Harrington and, it was quite the crowd-pleaser if I recall.”

“Sure Trouble,” You can nearly hear the eye roll at your expense, “It was the landing and not the fact that you were wearing those panties.”

The fact that he remembered the pair in question has you reeling, you nearly run into a fellow pedestrian in your dazed state.

“Anyway,” You say, cleaning your throat. “What’s on the sad boy agenda for today? Getting into divorced dad rock, any Matchbox-20 or Creed in your future?”

“God, you’re awful, and no, thanks very much.”

You hear a door slam and a car engine turn over. Someone muttering about Steve’s ‘utter lack of taste’ in music— Eddie, without a doubt.

He sighs down the line, pulling on your heartstrings because you miss them all so damn much, but Steve most of all.

“Just helping with some wedding stuff.” His voice is softer, sadder knowing you won’t be there to celebrate with them. “Boring shit, you know.”

You hum in agreement, “Well I’ll let you get to it. Don’t let Eddie flirt with too many bridesmaids!”

“You got it, chief,” Steve says, “Take care of yourself babe.”

“You too, big boy.” A huff of laughter at hearing his scoff, “Byyyeeee.”

And maybe it happens like Nance said it would, things just fall into place when they’re meant to.

After a flight from hell— a toddler would not, for love or money, stop kicking the back of your seat on the evening flight from Milan to Berlin, and you were stuck in the backmost row from Berlin to Indianapolis on the red-eye. It was a miracle you rolled up to your parents' house in one piece. You’d arrive at the venue to get ready with the rest of the bridal party where you’d hopefully be able to keep Robin sworn to secrecy.

You weren’t above putting her into a headlock, if it came down to it.

Dress, shoes, and make-up bag hastily thrown in your mom’s car, you drove to the venue just outside of Hawkins. A lovely little outdoor property owned by a local family, groves of trees and the finest collection of wildflowers you’d ever seen— fitting for Nancy and Jonathan.

You arrive in a slightly mussed frenzy, arms weighed down with your bridesmaid dress and a weekend bag that did fuck-all to protect you from the sudden onslaught of summer rain. Cursing the permeability of Indiana summers, you walk swiftly toward the bridal cottage.

The squelch of your shoes and drops of rain accompany you across the tiled path. Breathe. A steady inhale pulls the comforting scent of petrichor to your lungs, tucked safely behind the cage of your ribs. A shift in the light, a cloud makes way for the sun to shine once more; you scramble for the club masters perched on your head, impossibly tangled (of course) in a damp nest of hair.

Pried free, you rest the glasses against your nose bridge and stroll to the door. Before you can wrestle a hand free to knock, the door swings open to reveal a tipsy Vickie and bemused Nancy. A smirk settles on your lips as the two shuffle you into the cottage, tutting at the state of your hair and general tardiness.

“It is a wedding y’know,” Vickie teases grabbing the canvas bag from you. “Could make an effort to be on time.” She drops a wink your way before absconding toward the vanity table to deliver your belongings elsewhere.

Nancy huffs and rolls her eyes, taking the dresses from your arm. “Ignore her,” she soothes, “Seems the title of temporary co-M.O.H. has gone straight to her head.” She shoves a flute of champagne into your empty hand and leads you inside. “But you’re here, so the title can rightfully fall to you.”

“And how is the blushing bride?” You smile, taking in her cool, calm demeanor.

She’s notoriously hard to ruffle, so you’re not surprised to find Nancy the same as ever, albeit a tad buzzed from the champagne.

“Fuck a duck!” Robin shouts, colliding with part of the doorway as she takes the corner to quickly in her haste to get to you, having heard your voice from down the hall. She trips falling into you in a quasi-hug that’s mostly all elbows jabbed into your ribs.

“Walk with dignity, you overgrown toddler,” You laugh sipping some champagne, wrapping your arm around her in a proper hug. She buries her face into your neck with a smile. “And before you even ask, no you cannot, under any circumstance, tell your emotional support Steve about this.”

You feel her frown before she pulls back from you, “I can keep a secret y’know.”

“I don’t doubt it Bucks, just wanna surprise him is all.”

“He has no idea? Oh shit, this is gonna be good.” She says with a cackle before trotting off to help Vickie with her dress.

“Alright Wheels,” You announce polishing off your flute of champagne, “Let me at it, where’s the hairspray?”

After furious coating of L’Oreal’s finest to her hair after you’d secured a few flowers in place, you cough in a haze of hairspray and sagely advise, “That’s good for three slow dances, two fast ones, and one Lambada…” You warn, capping the canister to set it aside. “But if you wanna mosh, I’d suggest another coat.”

Nancy laughs at the suggestion, “I think we’re good.” She checks your handiwork in the mirror with a smile, “Can I ask you something Trouble?”

“Shoot.”

She turns to face you and lowers her voice to a whisper while the other bridesmaids are busy with false eyelashes and zipping up dresses. “Have you given any thought to what I said back in May?”

Ah, that conversation. The one where she (lovingly) warned you off of Steve if you weren’t certain about your feelings for him. Your big, overwhelming feelings. As if you could forget them, even thousands of miles away.

“You know,” You begin, voice pitched to meet hers, “I had a bit of time to think over the summer, no distractions, just me and the Tuscan sun.”

She stands to slip into her dress and you follow to assist— it’s a beautiful number, all minimal sleek lines and fitted to her like a glove. Nancy is gorgeous, but Nancy on her wedding day is otherworldly. She dutifully turns for you to button up the back and arrange the train for photos.

“And?”

Your eyes meet in the mirror, hers curious but not prying, yours wide, reeling from it all— the pro/con lists, numerous conversations with your mom, Eddie, and Nance, the letters, emails, voice notes, calls and texts from Steve. Somehow, some way they all amounted to this:

“You remember my twenty-first birthday?”

“How could I forget,” She chuckles knowingly, “Spin the bottle, right?”

A nod, you busy yourself smoothing out the few lines in the silhouette of the dress. “And a bit of liquid courage.”

There is no good reason why the eight of you should be doing this. Back at the loft after a night of carousing and bar-hopping, imbibed enough complimentary birthday drinks that spin the bottle seemed like a good idea. Even if the bottle in question is some ridiculously expensive high-roller shit swiped from Mr. Harrington’s study.

You’re warm, leaning on Eddie’s shoulder and whispering in his ear— goading him about kissing someone. Steve hopes it’s not you.

The glass mouth of the bottle spins to a stop in front of Jonathan who groans loudly before clambering over the whoops and hollers.

“Lay it on ‘im Munson!”

You tip backwards and shriek in glee when their lips touch. Eddie returns to your side with a roll of his eyes, pokes your knee with his finger. “Pucker up, buttercup. You’re next.”

Argyle cracks his knuckles, taps his chin thoughtfully, “Alright chica.” He says, “Hope you get Nance or Vic. Make it nice and steamy up in here.”

Steve hopes it’s him and not Nancy, selfishly. The rest of them be damned, if the bottle lands on him he’s going to frog-leap over Eddie, shove him to the side and kiss you good. If it lands on anyone else, he may get arrested for murder tonight.

There’s really no excuse for it— the longing. Best friends since childhood who drifted apart because, as always, he was a dumbass. Kissed you all of one time after the Homecoming dance freshman year and that was barely a peck.

The bottle lands on Vickie.

Slightly tipsy and putting on a show, you bite your bottom lip and lean in, slanting your mouth over hers with a soft sigh. The sound sinks into Steve’s gut and he groans in agony— jealous you’d rather kiss his ex or the redhead rather than him. Nevermind that the bottle was nowhere near landing on him.

“Keep it PG, ladies!” Robin calls, “This is taking way too long!”

“Bucks, shut up. I’m trying to take a video.” Nancy slaps the phone from Eddie’s hand.

Having had enough of it all, Steve stands. “Not that this isn’t how I want to spend my night…” he mumbles, hands patting his thighs. “But I’m peacing out.”

You look up, distracted, and bottom lip a little wet from Vickie, eyes hazy from the long night of celebrating, and quirk your head. “You leavin’, Stevie? Wan’ me to walk you?”

“What— like he’s gonna get lost from here to his room?”

Steve is going to get arrested tonight for murdering Eddie. Tries to keep his cool, regardless.

“S’okay birthday girl, I’ll be fine. You have fun.”

You hop up anyway, a bit blundering in your step, and grab his hand to yank him forward. “C’mon… I gotcha.” Fortified with liquor, you tug him along, turning a corner and chattering about how as much as you appreciate that expensive whiskey, you’d rather have a beer. There’s nothing better than some pretzels, beer, and a movie.

“Oh, uh, s-sorry.” Your hand loosens before you pull it away, self-consciously.

“For what?”

“I know we haven’t been, like, close for a while now. I didn’t mean to grab you like that.”

Oh. The realization dawns on him now, like a crash of lightning— you think he’s guarded… but he’s only been reserved for your sake.

He calls your name, followed by a murmured, “C’mere for a second.”

You lean against his bedroom door, dazed but curious. Steve steps forward until you’re nearly chest to chest, back against the wood. Your mouth opens with a nearly inaudible gasp, but he can see your pulse kick up in your throat. “Yeah?”

"You remember our first kiss?" He waits for you to nod before continuing. "I think I owe you a do-over."

Confusion flits across your face, a solitary brow quirked up in interest. "You wanna mulligan my first kiss, like... seven years after the fact?"

He ducks his chin in embarrassment, skin flushing with heat. "Yeah, I mean, if you're open to it?" He scratches the back of his neck and mumbles, "I just think you deserve better."

You bite your lip in thought, and Steve wants nothing more than to shrivel up and die— but then, you nod, and before he can think better of it, he takes his chance.

Purposefully, Steve tilts your face up fingers, trailing along your chin and jaw, thumbing the full of your bottom lip. You can hear your heart pounding in your ears, all whooshes and erratic beats, almost enough to drown out the words that fall from his lips.

And then, the perfect genius that is Steve Harrington leans down to close the distance between you. Satisfied that your face is tilted just so, his hand sweeps back your hair to cradle your head as his lips descend to yours.

He kisses you like he’s got all the time in world— like it isn’t past three in the morning and you’re about a minute from slipping under. He kisses lazy, slow, and sublime. Presses you closer to him, an arm winding around your waist to pull you from the wall. More, kissing—tongues and lips and teeth— more of that touch you’ve only dreamed about and you want to kick yourself for missing it, for even daring to fantasize when the real thing is so much more.

Your palms are on his chest, pawing at him for leverage, struggling to refrain from bucking your hips up into him like you so desperately want to do. Steve pulls back with a contented sigh, and you’re surprised there isn’t a string of saliva strung between the pair of your for all the swapping spit that just occurred. There’s nothing but you and him. His gaze, so tentative and sweet, meets yours briefly as he stands back hands shoved quickly into his pockets.

“I meant something like that.”

Your mouth tugs at a corner, as if you could laugh or cry. Or smile.

Steve lets out a breathy chuckle, brandishes a small, hopeful smile, and runs a hand through his hair.

You nod. And it’s enough.

“I–I think I’ve known for a while.” You admit sheepishly, looking for any last-minute adjustments that need to be made before the precessional. One hand grasping her train, you follow Nancy toward the door. Taking a shaky breath in, you say, "Guess some part of me has been in love with him since I fell off the fence and into his backyard that first summer."

She stops short and turns back to you elated because she knows the story all too well. Steve doesn't get drunk enough to talk about it often–- the man has a wooden leg, hand to god. But once in a blue moon, it'll happen: how the new neighbor's daughter nearly busted her ass sneaking back home way after her curfew, too buzzed on shitty wine coolers and reeking of weed to realize that she'd fallen on the wrong side of the fence.

Hastily, Robin thrusts a bouquet of flowers into Nancy’s hand. Just before the band starts up, Nancy gives your hand a squeeze and advises, “Sometimes what’s meant for you comes back, Trouble. Don’t let it slip by, okay?”

Steve is just looking to survive the day, he’ll be grateful to get through, honestly.

He was beyond bummed you couldn’t be there for Nance’s wedding and that he’d be sitting with her cousin instead— she’d talked his ear off during the rehearsal dinner last night about her current rewatch of Sex and The City. He’d never been so relieved to be pulled into bridal party duties by Eddie than he was that night.

And, to top it off, you weren’t answering your phone. Logically, he knew you’d be in exams for most of the day but you normally sent him a text or voice note once you woke up or before you made it to class for the day.

He’s pathetic. Eddie forced him to leave his phone in the groom’s suite and now he feels phantom vibrations from something that isn’t even in his pocket. Heaving a sigh, he lines up ready to escort Vickie and mentally preparing himself for a detailed recounting of the havoc that Samantha’s absence has caused the SATC franchise from the Wheeler cousin.

“You know,” A lazy, familiar voice drawls to his right, “If I was a riptide, I wouldn’t take you out.” An arm loops through his, comfortable and intimate.

But no— it couldn’t possibly be…

“Hey, Harrington.” You say, quietly, knocking your hips to his, casually holding a bouquet in your hand, all easy smiles and warm touches. When Steve finally does turn, he blinks a few times to confirm that you're not some hallucination.

Because you’re here, impossibly, you’re home, and everything is finally right in the world.

You reach over to straighten his tie, the alexandrite ring gleaming on your right hand and catching the light.

“How did you—” He stammers, bereft of language.

But then there’s that smirk he adores. “Some of us are stealthy, y’know. Like a ninja.”

“Oh, fuck me right in the mouth.” He laughs loud and bright, a few people turn back in their chairs to look.

You sputter briefly as the precessional begins, hand lighting on his arm with a gentle squeeze. “Uh, that can certainly be arranged, Harrington.”

In that moment he knew, with a certain sense of finality, that he had no choice but to love you; all his love and, if he’s being honest, fear, reflected there in your eyes.

The ceremony is beautiful, of course, and the reception is now in full swing. The new Mr. and Mrs. Byers shared an adorable first dance to “At Last” by Ella Fitzgerald, which nearly had you tearing up before Steve twirled you out onto the dancefloor.

“Hey, good lookin’,” He says with a smile so sweet, it almost makes you weak in the knees.

It’s a slow song, something to get the couples up and out of their seats. Over his shoulder you spy Robin and Vickie making goony eyes at eachother while Eddie and Argyle stumble around both trying to lead the other— idiots.

“Hi, Steve.” You reply, eyes making their way back to him. “Y’know, they say you should never trust a man who can dance.”

“And why’s that, honey?”

You shrug, “Dunno. Apparently they’re all heartbreakers or something.”

Steve, thanks to his mother’s needling and his father’s need to keep up appearances, could dance. He’d escorted many a debutante, including yourself, during Cotillion. You can still hear Savannah’s nasally “Did you know that five out of six debs marry their escorts?”

But, then again, she was also drinking from the fun flask at the ripe age of sixteen. So, do with that what you will.

He spins you easily, like it’s nothing, and before you know it you’re back in his arms. His brow is furrowed in thought, but what he could possibly be thinking you hadn’t a clue. So you continue to follow his lead across the dance floor and silently thank Mrs. Harrington for forcing you and Steve into those dance classes way back when, even if he stepped on your toes and you retaliated with an accidental elbow to his ribs— knock-kneed teens the pair of you.

So much has changed since then.

The music pauses, as someone announces that the bride will toss the bouquet. You go to find the bar, but Steve promises he’ll come back with a drink for you instead and then Eddie is hustling you toward the crowd of “single ladies.”

“Eds, no.” You attempt to swat him away, but he’s having none of it.

“Far as I know, you and Harrington are fuck buddies. No declarations,” His eyes fall to your left hand, “No ring. Beyoncé would insist, sugar.”

You’ve always had a sixth sense about things. When you were younger, your family and friends often thought it was an ability— but in truth, it’s just a mixture of careful perception, logical thinking, and educated guessing.

But not even your sixth sense could explain how you’d ended up catching the bouquet. Especially with a vodka and tonic in one hand and standing at the rear of the gaggle of gals gathered for the event. Didn’t even want to take part, far more interested in finding the coat check room and seeing how long it would take Steve to blow his load once you finally got your mouth on him.

So it’s a surprise, either luck or Nance’s killer aim, when her bouquet lands in your hand, the ribbon wrapped stems falling neatly into your palm just as you turn to shout something at Eddie behind you. Catching Steve’s knowing smirk and hearing Eddie’s piercing wolf-whistle, you give him an exaggerated wink before tossing back your drink.

It’s not long after that, a few more spins around the dance floor, some cake, and more liquor, tasteful toasts from you and Argyle, fond farewells to the newlyweds and bags thrown into cars for a quick getaway, that Steve tosses you— bouquet in hand, over his shoulder and dips out of there. Ignoring Eddie’s teasing of Irish exits and Irish twins, he sets you on your feet again to lean you against the car and kisses you positively stupid.

But it’s not a surprise when Steve finally asks you the question he’s been dying to for nearly the entire summer on the drive home, Nancy’s bouquet resting against the dash as you toe off your heels.

“Hey mind-reader, how long did it take?”

“Hmm?” Pleasantly sleepy from jet lag, your mind struggles to spark a fuse of comprehension. Steve raises a solitary brow in interest.

"Whaddya mean?" You mumble out between stifled yawns.

His hand rests on your leg while he drives, big and warm, his fingers fiddling with the fabric of your dress. Steve, bless him, won't press you on it, but he also wouldn't have asked something so casually for no reason. He's crafty like a fox when he wants to be.

You take a breath and let yourself really think about it. If you’re taking the question seriously, which you damn well should, he deserves an explanation. Hesitantly, you remind Steve of the near fiasco with the wedding dress back at your old place. He nods at your rambling, how guilty and scared you felt at shutting him out.

“So, yeah, between the moving-in playlist and me being bat-shit terrified of you seeing me in a wedding dress,” You summarize, fingers finding their way to his once more. The warm glow of the streetlights cast shafts of light through the windows. “You’re about as subtle as a brick through a window, Steve Harrington," You conclude with a smirk.

His eyes widen in realization, “Oh, so that’s what you were apologizing for before left for Joshua Tree.” An annoyed sigh before a sharp inhale takes its place. “You’re so stupid.”

Back at the loft, fumbling hands in elevators lips spit slick and ruddied, Steve bats away your grabby hands with an exasperated huff as they light upon his chest. Nearly dropping his keys when they find a better way to occupy themselves.

Once inside, he presses his face into your neck, kissing hungrily, anywhere he can, down to your collarbones and chest and then he’s lifting you up by the thighs, kicking the door close, and instinctively pulling everything off.

He peels his shirt off and throws it onto the floor while you shimmy out of your dress. His mouth hasn’t left yours for anything other than to breathe.

His hands stop at the curve of your hips. The room is spinning— the entire world moving too fast in a feverish haze. Years of close-quartered friendship and the first intimate touches in months have jumped right into the deep end. You don’t even know when the two of you made way back into his room, but the door clicks shut with a kick from his foot.

“Hey, mind-reader, I got two questions for you,” Steve calls teasingly. “First, how big did you think I was, y'know before? When you accused me of, how did you put it... harboring a fugitive?”

Your brain briefly short-circuits at that, mildly embarrassed. He laughs at your slow, owlish blinks while you formulate a response other than, "Well, I, uh..."

"Okay, okay," He drops a kiss to your brow, soothing your worries away, “Second…”

You gulp. Your legs feel like jelly— all the smart words in the entire world wiped completely from existence. The pause he takes is punishingly long and the grin he gives you nearly makes you faint.

His pants are shucked somewhere near the bedroom door. One of your hands goes into his hair, other guiding him between your legs where you smear all over his fingers.

"S'been a while, do you think you can take it?”

“Oh,” A smirk quirks your lips, hand scrabbling for purchase on his tanned skin, “I think you know I can.”

Later, after frenzied forays in tangled sheets and revelling in the afterglow, you place your hand over his chest, selfishly counting his heartbeats.

You breathe, soft and sweet, “Steve,” the sound of your voice a warm balm in the inky dark. “Steve,” You say again and kiss his neck, turning toward you on the rumpled bed he kisses you, as if he could ever get enough.

“I love you.”

He pulls back, just enough so that you wrap your leg around his hips, sheet slipping off as his fingers trail up your thigh. Grazing the tip of his nose ever so lightly against your temple, you feel the rumble of laughter through his chest as it heaves against yours.

Rolls you onto your back, legs falling open to cradle his hips while he holds himself above you, hair falling into his face, “Took you long enough,” he grins, kissing you again. Your cheeks, your jaw, your chin. “I love you too, honey.”

His love is heavy and you delight in the gravity of it as he slips his way back inside, your hands pulling him closer than anyone can ever or will ever get again. It feels fated— the way your body moves and his responds in kind.

Steve only keens your name in reply.

Spun clear out of your body in the haze, pure joy erupts from your mouth, hands scrambling for him, so woozy and giddy you can’t help it.

So this is love, after all.

Finis.

#steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fan fiction #stranger things fan fiction #modern!steve #teacher!steve #the kids aren't alright - rosewateverandivy #Spotify

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syngoniums · 1 year

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Text is from the Center for Biological Diversity:

For Immediate Release, February 27, 2023

Contact:

Tierra Curry, (928) 522-3681, [email protected]

Rare Milkweed Gains Endangered Species Protection, Critical Habitat

Plant Is Crucial for Migratory Monarch Butterflies in South Texas, Mexico

RIO GRANDE CITY, Texas— The U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service today protected the prostrate milkweed as endangered. Only 24 populations of the plant survive, in south Texas and northern Mexico, where they serve as an important food source for pollinators like bees and imperiled monarch butterflies.

The Service also protected 661 acres of critical habitat for the plant in eight south Texas units in Zapata and Starr counties. Recent border-wall construction degraded another 20 acres of habitat that were proposed for protection last year to the point that they were unsuitable for the plant and withdrawn from designation. All populations of the milkweed in the United States are within nine miles of the border, making it one of hundreds of species threatened by wall construction.

“Protecting prostrate milkweed is a big deal for the monarch butterflies who lay their eggs on these plants as they fly through Texas after spending the winter in Mexico,” said Tierra Curry, a senior scientist at the Center for Biological Diversity. “For the sake of the milkweed and all the pollinators who rely on it, it’s a relief that this important native plant finally has the safeguards of the Endangered Species Act.”

Construction and maintenance for roads, utilities, and the oil and gas industry also destroy the prostrate milkweed, and additional border-wall construction on the Lower Rio Grande National Wildlife Refuge threatens to uproot more of them. These activities and livestock grazing foster the spread of invasive buffelgrass, which is planted as livestock forage. Buffelgrass displaces native plants and is very difficult to control.

Under natural conditions the prostrate milkweed is thought to be able to persist at low densities. It produces so much nectar that far-flying pollinating insects such as tarantula hawks and large bees are so juiced up after visiting it that they can fly farther and pollinate other relatively distant prostrate milkweed populations. But as prostrate milkweed numbers and densities have declined, the plant is also imperiled by lower reproductive success and loss of genetic diversity.

Just 24 populations of prostrate milkweed remain in Starr and Zapata counties in Texas and in Tamaulipas and eastern Nuevo León in Mexico. Nineteen of those populations are rated in low condition, the remaining five are in moderate condition and none are in high condition — indicating acute imperilment.

The Endangered Species Act has been successful in keeping more than 99% of species under its protection from going extinct. But long delays in adding animal and plant species to the endangered list have heightened the perils and made recovery more difficult and expensive. For example, the Service must decide by the end of 2024 whether to protect monarch butterflies as threatened, 10 years after a petition seeking to protect them under the Endangered Species Act was filed.

The prostrate milkweed listing comes in response to a Center lawsuit to gain final decisions on protection for 241 plant and animal species threatened with extinction, including the prostrate milkweed and more than 35 others in Texas. The prostrate milkweed was the subject of a 2007 protection petition by WildEarth Guardians.

The prostrate milkweed’s low and sprawling leaves and stem wilt during droughts. But the plant’s subterranean tuber stays alive and after soaking up moisture from occasional tropical storms sends up stalks and pink and yellow flowers.

#apocynaceae #plantblr #texas natives

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witchofthesouls · 10 months

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What would be the equivalent of breast feeding for a newborn sparklings?

Their carriers don’t have breast to feed them, but I imagine newborns can’t take pure energy on liquid since they’re still so small.

I answered an ask about Cybertronian boobs or an equivalent to nursing in different frame-types here: https://witchofthesouls.tumblr.com/post/666034703498870784/question-can-cybertronians-make-something

So I'll do an expansion:

Sparkling-grade Energon is a nutritionally-dense and creamy, pale-pink Energon that's produced by a carrier's refinery systems. It's absolutely packed with minerals, nanites, and critical metals. Non-carriers (like sires, donors, or off-the-street mecha) can produce a supplemental-frame kick, which looks very similar, but lack all thirteen kinds of nanites that newsparks need. Usually one or two. At most three. It varies from each mecha. However, such fuel is still a great help to a carrier's systems that's depleted or gearing up for the next round, especially since newsparks have poor fuel regulation and go under a lot of development, so they need frequent, heavy feedings.

Some carriers can overproduce sparkling-grade, so it can be stored in containers and donated to many designated drop-offs: hospitals and clinics, Enforcer stations, schools, public housing, creches and orphanages, and charity events, to name a few places.

That's because there's a huge demand for this resource. Not only for bitlets, but it's also a wonderful resource for mecha that are medically compromised or severely restricted on what they can consume.

Frame-derived fuel from a carrier is naturally very shelf-stable. Fit for consumption for a lifetime with proper storage. There have been many attempts to replicate this trait with synthetic fuel, but not much success. The onsite production loses potency and nutrition within orns, and the powdered form, while it can be kept in a pantry, will become a ridiculously expensive flavoring after a single vorn.

Seekerkin city-states have a very large nursing culture since their frames tend to have multiple newsparks in each gestation, their societies are far more collectivist, and Functionist's standardization efforts mess with their unique frame-quirks. If a carrier is struggling to feed her bits, then other femmes from the flock will step in. Families also have access to wet nurses in local community centers, services from hospitals and family clinics volunteers, and even their jobs would cover it since it's a benefit that's enforced by cultural and social practices. (Praxus and Polyhex have made multiple attempts to codify it into their legal systems with the rise of outsider corporations requesting to place offices in their perimeter, but Functionist-Iacon and their supporting city-states put a lot of economic pressure to defeat those measures. They found other ways to quietly or loudly flip them off.)

Unlike other frames, a Seeker femme is able to produce sparkling-grade with all thirteen nanites after the first carriage with voluntary control and no need to be in a carriage. There have been multiple proposals on why:

Since their smaller mech-counterparts don't have personal refinery systems, it falls on the hardier femme frame to produce enough to feed many mouths.

It can be extrapolated by Vos' ancient cultural expression of "Mechs trine, femmes flock." It's a long-held social bonding activity that connects multiple generations within a single flock and strengthens the social networks within the community.

Before the formation of Vos, many Seekerkin were nomadic or semi-nomadic in the harsh environments of the Wastelands and the Rust Sea, so it may be an evolutionary coding-related quirk to help extend the scant resources on their immense travels.

There's been other proposals but a very negative slant that relates the Seeker frame to barely a step up from non-sentient mechanimals. (It's outsiders from non-Seekerkin city-states that do this.)

#ask #transformers #sparklings #bitlets #cybertronian biology #cybertronian culture #cybertronian cities #tf headcanons #pregnancy #robotitties #robots with breasts #my thoughts #i have a lot of thoughts about this. and i will make it work

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eatmangoesnekkid · 8 months

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*Revised: It's important that I came back and revised my post, be a bit more deliberate and sensitive around matters of the heart. Here is a copy of my revised post on war, Black woman martyrdom, painful monthly periods, and fear/division. There are a lot of downloads and codes I freely share in this post. It's a long read but perhaps edifying for anyone with eyes to see/feel. _____ While we are all connected and part of the one human race, as a woman of African ancestry living in possession of the Mitochondria Eve Gene, it is my duty to not live as a martyr for this world. This is not a statement of arrogance or "supremacy" over anyone else, those codes our egoic predatory system was created from. It is just the way DNA/ancestry works. It is similar to why I'm looking for a 2nd home in a warmer climate because my texture and physiology require incredible doses of sunlight in order for me to function optimally. My resources to be of service are limited when living far away from the Equator. It is just how biology organizes and harmonizes a specific circadian rhythmic requirement that will be different for us all. Currently I live full-time in a northern European climate with very little sun, a shared life in a small cute house in the city with my lover of 8 years. So when I speak about the Mitochondria Eve Gene, it is merely a similar fact and not about division and other foolishness. The Mitochondria Eve Gene is deeply valuable like sunlight. I won't get into here. It has already been laid out in The Melody of Love Book 1. When I was in my 20s, my periods used to be heavy and would always come through my pants/skirts. I wore double pads because I had golf ball size clots. I cramped painfully every month, so much so, that I was a regular at my school's infirmary on day 1 of my bleed time. They would give me a shot and I would fall right to sleep on their hospital bed and when I woke up 2-3 hours later, all pain was gone. Back then I looked forward to getting that shot and the routine schedule of my boyfriend picking me up after I had wept and slept. At that time, I loved that the nurse would numb me and I didn't feel any symptom. The numbing (lack of feeling of truth) allowed me to function again in my classes as a regular student. Back then, 27 years ago, I was a budding activist, a member of a popular pink and green sorority, and fully into the news media and celebrities. Whatever was going on racially-charged, I was marching and carrying signs. One day, in my visions while laying on the infirmary bed, I saw myself spending decades being a martyr in another lifetime. I made the decision around 30 years old to no longer be a martyr for this world and started fortifying my body with rest, movement, sun, and vitamin c. And now my periods/moon times are incredibly pleasurable and always pain-free. This shift in reality divined me even more deeper information around the nature of how life works in a female body.

As a melaninated female, my body, emotions, and other stargates were programmed to be siphoned by this world from birth. I was conditioned to value profit and productivity over pleasure and wellness and for my labor to be used as resources for other people's lives, dreams, and adventures. And the foundational predatory nature of our Western society was built off the backs of my lineage to exploit and extract from other Black and Brown bodies. That means that I was programmed to work harder on a job than I worked on myself (my own cells) so that I could not create and live a life that truly belonged to me. So no I am not going to be thinking too much or overly emotional about anything happening in the world right now. And when I feel myself leaning too far right or left, I'm going to bring my energy back to center inside my spine and orient it towards natural beauty, movement, sound, deep nourishment, hydration, and love, feeling the sensation of love move through my body parts, learning love in my psyche, remembering how to love my body, love my -body in relationship to other bodies, and love other bodies. Please don't ask me what I feel about the insanity system of war after war, loss of freedom after loss of freedom, in an inflamed world. It is my duty to the grandmothers to heal the "evil" "conflict" and "war" from within me so that I can grow my life force energy in ways that allow me to be of service anywhere I land. This means I bring my emotions (energy) back home so that I think clearly enough to not bypass my body and go lay down and rest when I feel tired so that I may feel steady and emotionally sober. Say "no" to going out late at night when I know I need more rest. Turn off my electronics a few hours before bed time so that I can take care of my circadian biology and not start to prematurely atrophy in my spine, joints and muscles. Spend my time/resources on making fresh sourdough break or making love in some way. Touch my tissues and slow-braid my wild hair. Get massages and strengthen my legs/root. Weep and leak whether suppressed grief or unrepressed ecstasy. What is happening in the world is terrible in very clear obvious ways. It's been happening in some way for a long time and now the evil is brought out of the dark into the light. This is how life goes. It has been this way for eons, Loved Ones.

Oftentimes the solution is less talking and more deep listening. I do not need to always speak or have commentary about everything and neither should you. I do not care to constantly scroll and stay abreast of single thing going on in world, and live in a perpetual state of panic and unrest as a result. It is still my duty to the lineages that live through me not to be so externally-focused and put any part of my body back into a cage without guilt or shame. Understanding this geometry 14 years ago continues to free my cells, tissues, and organs. Now I get to spend 2 hours in a bathing ritual, receiving instead of constantly creating, and living exemplary in this world so that I may help free other woman and female bodied people so that we, together, may be a guiding lights in different parts of the world. I do not take the gift lightly.

Here are other considerations to think about:

1. Divide and conquer is one of the oldest shadows in human history. Start to question everything you see and read online, including from me. 2. What happens in the collective also happens within us. If chaos or evil is happening out there (as it has been happening), you must also locate the “evil” or "chaos" that is happening within you in order to free your waters fully and become more aware in a deeper way. Who or what has your emotion also has part ownership of your waters.Water consciousness/emotions/awareness/the subconscious --it's all connected. 3. This is just the beginning, loved ones. You must also open up your heart, strengthen your 3rd eye and belly, and manage your nervous and immune systems so that you have the capacity to read between the lines of division and binaries. 4. A dehydrated body is mentally unclear and physiologically unable to think clearly, process life soundly, and make grounded choices 5. . It’s impossible to imbue logic from interconnected systems organized to be harmful from the start where one group of people "loses" and another group of people seemingly "wins." Meaning —less intellect is required now and more clarifying body-based intelligence. You must root down into your body for direction and clarity. If you have very little connection to your body, this will be challenging, accept that. Begin to align with people who are more connected to their body/intuition and learn from them. We are going to have lean on and trust each other a little more. Because not everyone has the same skillsets or gifts—which means we are all incredibly necessary. 6. Times will get tough for some (many) people because there are some deeper realities happening underneath what is being presented on the surface. It’s not an easy thing to speak about publicly because many people's hearts, nervous systems, and addictions need some tending to. Mystery schools like mine and others will be essential. 7. Those who have divine feminine mystery schools must be willing to be students and observers in one another’s school. Division, sneakiness, or competition as modeled by living in a predatory system have to be released from the body and left alone for good. 8. You must tend to your mind and not allow it to take over your body with its judgments, fears, insecurities, and criticisms. Remember yourself as s an embodiment of love. Think about love for 3 or minutes and your body begins to produce the chemistry of love inside your tissues. Your thoughts (masculine) and feelings (feminine) produce a 3rd thing, in this case, a vibration of love that interacts with the electromagnetic field. How you think creates a frequency that greatly contributes to raising your frequency and creating a new future reality. In other words, slow down and be more present and conscious of your thoughts and how you are thinking and tune into what you are feeling. -India Ame'ye, Author

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gayratdad · 4 months

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Tag! You're It!

Thank you @lydiablackblade for thinking of me and the tag 🩷

Last song - Bad Blood (Taylors Version) my current album on repeat has been 1989 Deluxe Taylors Version 🩵🩵🩵

Favourite Colour - Baby Pink 🩷

Last Movie/Show - Last Movie was Asteroid City by Wes Anderson. I watched it with my partner and our friends and dear LORD! It was a trip. It was a post new years eve 2AM watch that feels like a fever dream. Last show is obviously Good Omens 🥺

Next on my watchlist - wellp, my partner and I are going through Mr. Robot for the second time. The first time, we never finished it, and that was like 5 years ago.

Last Game - Dome Keeper 😎😎

Last Book - The Spirit Bares It's Teeth by Andrew Joseph White. This one is!! Very good. Trans MC, late 1800 London, gothic academic medical horror vibes.

Sweet/savoury/spicy - I'm not really sure on this, I was a major sweet tooth when I was young. Now I feel I lean more towards Savoury. It also really depends on what I'm feeling at the moment. I do like Spicy but unfortunately my tongue does not agree 😭

Relationship Status - Engaged 👨‍❤️‍👨👬

Last thing I googled - bc transcript service

Greatest Flaw - uhhhmm. I'm a perfectionist. It's hard for me to let things be "not perfect" and it's even harder for me to try new things because I know I won't be perfect on the first try. Re: Finishing my fanfics that I've started and posted 😖😖 I worry that people will hate that it's not perfect or if it took a weird turn.

I just finished their fic, Demonology and it's !!!!! My fave good omens work EVER! So I'm excited to continue the journey and keep reading this one

Current Obsession - Good Omens. That's it. Nothing else. 🐍🐍🐍🪽🪽🪽 They take up all of my thoughts 24/7.

Fic I'm currently reading -

Angel-Centered Therapy Through A Multicultural Lens: An Integrative Approach

No pressure tag(s) @turquoisedata and @moss-sprout if you'd like! No pressure :3

🩷🩷🩷

*The questions are pasted in the comments for copying :)

#tag game #gayratdad game

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aquagirl1978 · 1 year

Note

I don’t know if this is already requested but can you do Dazai + hugs #3 🥺

I had gotten two requests for this prompt - hugging and gently holding the other’s head - one fluffy and one spicy. So, I decided to do something different and post this in two parts. Here is Part One, the fluffy part. Hopefully later today, I will post the spicy part.

In Through the Window... - Dazai Osamu x Reader (Ikemen Vampire)

A/N: Part of my 500 Follower Celebration as well as Be My Valentine 2.0 hosted by @xxsycamore and @chaosangel767

Pairing: Dazai Osamu x Reader

Prompts: hugging and gently holding the other’s head and getting them a bouquet of their favorite flowers

Tags: fluff

It was an ordinary afternoon.

Lunch service had just concluded and you were busy clearing the large table in the dining room. The van Gogh brothers announced there would be an exhibition of Vincent’s works in the coming weeks. Arthur teased Isaac, asking if he wanted an apple with lunch until Sebastian removed the fruit bowl from the table, much to Arthur’s chagrin. Napoleon and Jean stopped by for a bite to eat before sharing a carriage into the city. Even Mozart stepped away from his piano long enough to grab a cup of coffee.

Come to think of it, lunch was rather busy today with almost all the residents stopping by at some point. But one resident in particular was missing, and his absence did not go unnoticed by you.

You had overheard Arthur mention that Dazai was in the city, which was news to you. And while you were curious what your boyfriend was up to, you did not pry. You were still exploring and enjoying your newly-found relationship as lovers, and after everything you had gone through together so far, what Dazai needed most was to spread his wings and be free to go as he chose. Not to be locked in a cage, controlled. No, if Dazai wanted you to know what he was doing, he would tell you.

You picked up the large coffee pot from the center of the table; heavy in your arms, you quickened your steps as you made your way to the kitchen.

There was a soft rattle in the room; you looked down at the metal pot in your hands, and assumed it was just the lid making the noise. After adjusting the lid, you continued on your way to the kitchen.

Then there it was again. Louder this time. You quickly scanned the room, only to confirm you were the only one in the room. You lived in a mansion full of vampires, not ghosts, you quickly reminded yourself.

You brought the coffee pot to the kitchen where Sebastian had started washing the dishes, and returned to the dining room to collect the remaining plates. Your back to the window, you heard the rattle again, this time followed by a muffled voice.

Toshiko-san?

Running to the window, an extra bounce in your step, your eyes widened when you discovered who was behind the window - Dazai was outside. Your fingers worked quickly to unlock the large window; opening it, you smiled as Dazai climbed into the room.

“I don’t normally use this window,” he said, his eyes crinkling as he laughed, “but someone must have locked it since I last used it.” His laughter infectious, you found yourself leaning against his body for support.

“Oh, these are for you.” He presented you with a beautiful bouquet of hydrangeas, its fluffy petals in pastel shades of periwinkle and pink.

“Thank you…for the flowers,” you whispered as you wrapped your arms around his waist. He sighed, his body melting against yours; cupping the nape of your neck, he cradled your head gently in his hand, your cheek pressed against his chest. The beat of his heart soothing, you felt as if you could stand there forever in this position.

Tagging: @redheadkittys @kissmetwicekissmedeadly @chaosangel767 @atelieredux @ikehoe @kpop-and-otome @ikemen-writer @lucyw260 @queengiuliettafirstlady @kisara-16 @lordsisterxotome @violettduchess @jet-ivory @bellerose-arcana @crypticbibliophile @yarnnerdally @tele86 @nightfoxqueen @wendolrea

#be my valentine ccc #be my valentine content creation challenge #ikemen series #ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikevamp dazai #ikemen dazai #ikemen fanfic #ikevamp fanfic #otome #otome games #otome fanfic

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sensitiveheartless · 2 years

Note

*bird nerd activates*

Thinks about birds, you say? Go on...

:D YESSS FELLOW BIRD NERD!! ...Ahem.

Anyway! That fic was basically an excuse to write Chuuya being introspective—he's using various things about birds as metaphors to help work through some shit. Here, I wrote the beginning of it— (putting it under the cut because a little lengthy for people to scroll past lol)

Chuuya breathed.

Despite being in the center of Yokohama, the air was fairly clear around him. Perhaps it was the sheer height of the Port Mafia towers that kept the wind whipping at his coat and hat so untainted, flavored with the distant scent of the sea.

That sea breeze was quite strong that day. But no matter how much it pulled and tugged at Chuuya’s clothes, he remained entirely unmoved, steady. His hat and coat were weighted down by gravity, kept firmly pinned to his head and shoulders, just as Chuuya himself was weighed down against the rooftop, pinned in place. A use of his ability that had become instinctive, at this point.

Chuuya swung his legs out over the edge of the rooftop, gazing out across the city. It was a long, long way down beneath his feet, the base of the Port Mafia headquarters blurry with distance, but he felt no thrill of danger at the sight. He could walk vertically across the side of the building he felt like it, without leaving a single scratch on the endless smooth planes of glass windows. Hell, he could jump all the way down and land light as a feather—had done just that many times, in fact.

The service door creaked open behind him. He didn’t turn to look—he could recognize the footsteps, so he let them approach, remaining relaxed.

A flutter of pink and white robes settled beside him slowly, the swirl of fabric catching the corner of his eye. Kouyou knelt with as much elegance as ever, even on the rather grubby rooftop. She must be very concerned, to ignore the potential damage to her clothes.

“Lad,” she said, quiet but just loud enough to be heard over the wind. “Are you alright?”

What an open question. What did it really mean, to be alright?

Chuuya tipped his head back to look up at the blue skies overhead, and shrugged. “I think so,” he said. “Why?”

“You’ve been up here a long time,” Kouyou said cautiously. “Your subordinates informed me you were acting oddly today. And you aren’t smoking, or drinking.”

Chuuya snorted. “And that’s a bad thing?” he asked.

“Unusual,” Kouyou corrected. “That’s what you usually do up here, is it not?”

“Fair enough,” Chuuya said, still gazing up into the blue. “I suppose I’m just thinking.”

“Oh?” Kouyou said, a light, curious prompt. Not an interrogation, but audibly perplexed.

Chuuya leant back on his palms and watched a gull circle overhead, following its circuitous path with his gaze.

Fascinating creatures, birds. Chuuya could fly as well, in a way, but there was something in the way birds went about it, the way they soared. Much as Chuuya might try, the open sky never truly felt like his domain. He couldn’t ride the air currents, glide about; he had to direct his every movement, consciously manipulate his own gravity to go where he wished.

He wondered what it would feel like to be able to let go like that, to entrust himself to the swirling embrace of thin air with nothing more than a couple of feathered wings to keep him aloft. The closest Chuuya ever got to that kind of blind faith was when he gave himself over to Corruption, and that could hardly be called a gentle experience.

Except…sometimes, there were those moments in the aftermath that could almost come close. Moments as he drifted in and out of consciousness, feeling bandaged hands holding him up, supporting him. A feeling of lightness, of trust, of the stomach-dropping surprise of being caught when he was mid-freefall.

A light cough reminded Chuuya that Kouyou was still beside him, awaiting an answer. Right, he must be worrying her, staying quiet so long. “Just thinking about birds,” Chuuya said. “They’re fuckin’ flighty as hell, aren’t they? Really makes you think.”

Then, that vague thought communicated, he subsided back into silence.

There was a long pause, filled with nothing except the steady howl of wind around them.

“I…see,” Kouyou said dubiously. “...Are you sure you’re well, lad?”

“Oh, probably,” Chuuya laughed, a little wildly, meeting her narrow gaze ever so briefly before looking back at the shimmering sea. He grinned, without quite knowing how it would settle on his features. His face felt a little odd and unpredictable in the face of the stinging breeze. For all he knew, it looked more like a grimace.

I almost forgot—I made a small doodle for this back when I was first working on it, so here’s that as well!

#hehehe :D thanks for asking!#bsd #bsd chuuya #ask box #senhart's writing #skyline pigeon fic

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sidhewrites · 11 months

Text

I was possessed by the spirit of writing last night and stayed up way too late working on a Graveyard Lesbians rewrite. So here's a brand new chapter 1 :)

Project Info

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tag list: @adaughterofathena @ambreeskyewriting @carnelianflame @halfbloodlycan @vigilantdesert @nadunacreates

For the record, I wasn't in a graveyard in the rain to sulk, or brood, or pout. I had work to do. I'll admit, I had done no small amount of those things the past two weeks, but this wasn't the time. Regardless of the weather, grass had to be cut, headstones had to be cleaned, and ghosts had to be banished.

Okay, that last one was a lie, but I did feel a little bit like a ghost buster, leaving the tool shed armed with a trowel, huge garden shears, and an assortment of other tools hanging off my tool belt, and a grim scowl of determination on my face. One of the rose bushes had thrown out a runner, and if I didn't tackle it now, Mr. Ngo would try to take care of it himself.

And though I was a cool, collected, recently-single young woman in a college town full of other young women ready to mingle, I wasn't about to let a sixty-year-old man with arthritis try to fight a runner. Better just to keep him ignorant of the whole thing.

So I leave the tool shed properly armed, and only pause briefly to wonder if I should take the golf cart. The roses weren't too far away on a clear day, but it was pouring buckets, and it would be better for the metal tools. But it would also ruin the mood of my post-breakup wallowing. In the end, it wasn't a hard decision at all.

I take off, and let the rain wash down my face, ruining my recently-touched up pink dye, and dripping off my various piercings. Perfect.

The town had newer graveyards, with fewer ghost stories and questionable history, but this one had been around for almost 150 years. The first grave dated back to when Joseph Sutterman and his party first arrived here and set up a logging operation to service all the settlements along the river as it traveled down the mountainside. As the surrounding cities grew, so did Sutterman's settlement and the town of [Town] was founded. Even if the logging industry had dried up in the 1940s, people kept moving in, Sutterman College kept growing, and now we had a whole modern graveyard, and zoning laws, and everything. [find a way to put this back on topic about how this graveyard and like half of town has ghost stories with how old it is]

A flash of movement out of the corner of my eye has me stop in my tracks and look over my shoulder. The graveyard isn't open to the public for another two hours, so there shouldn't be anyone there. All the same, I could swear I saw something. But as I turned, my headphone wire snagged on the shears, and I flinched as one earbud tore out of my ear. By the time I'd saved it from falling in the mud, the brief pain had receded, and I was able to turn back to where I'd seen the person.

Only there wasn't anyone there. Just the old tree in the center of the older headstones, looking as ominous and spooky as always when the weather was like this. Spooky, but not actually someone trying to trespass.

The graveyard was well-trafficked, with a wide gates on three of its four sides, separating many of the apartments and off-campus housing from the university campus itself. The odd passer-by wasn't an uncommon sight, nor was it unheard of for students to spend time here, studying or hanging out between classes. There's a small chance I'm speaking from personal experience when I say that the gates were too difficult to climb when locked and slick from the rain.

So I tip an imaginary hat at the old spooky tree with its crown of red-and-gold leaves, and make my way over to the rose bushes.

By the time I've got the runner pulled up and the dirt back in place, I'm exhausted, covered in mud, and soaked to the bone, but I feel better about my life for the time being. Digging things up and gardening had always helped get my mind off things, Josie included. She'd be at the curio shop by now, hard at work and hopefully feeling guilty about how we'd left off the last time we tried to find time for her to come pick up the rest of her things from my place. It was almost noon, which meant the end of my shift, and I figured that the older graves could stand to wait a day or two before I mowed the grass in that quarter of the graveyard.

Mr. Ngo, being a grandfather, had perfected the disappointed dad stare, and he leveled me with one as he puttered up to the tool shed in his own personal golf cart. "What happened to you, Karen?" He also knew exactly when to use my full name to kick his fatherly disappointment up a notch. Normally, it's Kas to him, and everyone else except my actual father, who I only spoke to on holidays.

For the record, I'd only ever called him dad five times since I started working here three years ago.

"Morning, boss."

"You look like a zombie that crawled out of the ground." Though he lost his hair years ago, Mr. Ngo had never lost his Vietnamese accent, nor his love for campy monster movies from the eighties. I have him to thank for my own love of horror, and half my DVD collection.

"I could definitely go for a skull full of brains right about now." Listen, I wasn't good at clever comebacks. "How are your joints doing?"

His expression didn't change, which meant that they were indeed hurting and didn't want me to know. "I'll tell you when it's your business."

"Sure thing, boss."

"Anything left to do today?"

"Nothing that can't wait until the weather clears."

He paused, looking at me in a way that made my insides squirm. I hated when he got sympathetic and fatherly. "Phan made banh mi today. I'll meet you in the office."

"Braiiiins."

He gave me a look, and drove off. His wife always made something for me, since my own family is half a country and two time zones away. She's an angel, and, if I didn't think my mom would disown me for ever saying such a thing out loud, I'd ask her to be my second mom, too.

Thankfully, lunch wasn't the worst thing ever. Mr. Ngo had taken a few days to accept Josie and I were properly broken up, and was still dealing with the fact that neither of us had any intention of getting back together. Any friendship we might have had post - relationship had been ruined with how long we'd drawn things out, and I still bristled when she was brought up in conversation.

I told him to thank Phan for lunch as always, and, now that I was off the clock, I let myself brood broodily back home.

#writeblr #wip #mystuff #writing #graveyard lesbians #gl #gl chapter #lgbtq fiction #wlw fiction

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super-ion · 1 year

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Ion & Emily

Cannonball's Story - Part II

Part 1

She pauses and smiles at me.

"You're probably wondering what this has to do with tattoos," she says. "I'm getting to that, I promise."

Tattoos? Oh right… I asked her about tattoos. I'm just laying there listening to her tell me her back story, just absolutely riveted. It's *the* story, her story. It's the story I've been dying to hear, but have been too respectful of her boundaries to actually ask about.

"I… can I kiss you first? I just feel so bad for her, I mean you. I want her to be okay-"

She interrupts me by pressing her lips to mine.

"She grows up and falls in love with the most beautiful woman in the world," she whispers. "But you already know that part of the story."

I kiss her again and… well, let's just say it takes us a few minutes before she continues the story…

The bottom three floors of the Tower are open to the public. There's an entire museum for the heroes who have resided in its halls. Emily and John had spent countless afternoons in the Tower while their parents did their super hero work. It was basically their second home and they had mastered the art of sneaking out long before they ever put on their costumes.

She squeezed through the blind spot in the security cameras and out the hidden service exit and slipped into the afternoon crowd. Nobody paid her any mind, people saw what they wanted to see. Nobody connected the hunched shouldered teenager in the ratty punk outfit with the towering posters of the smiling confident superhero.

She reached in her pocket and pulled out her earbuds. As she cranked the volume up, she idly wondered how long it would take for them to take the posters down. How long before Cannonball went from being front and center to one of the footnotes they kept in the back?

She wove through the crowd, not paying attention to any of the displays until one in particular made her stop.

The shoot for the infamous family portrait had been a complete nightmare. It always was whenever her parents were in the same room together. Once upon a time, they might have been a happy little family, but those days had long passed. The only reason they were officially still together was optics. That day in particular her mother had been sniping at everyone while her father kept checking his watch. She needed the shoot to be perfect and he needed it to be done and over. Emily couldn’t remember if this version of the portrait had been taken before or after she started crying. Not that anyone could tell with the costume and the makeup and editing.

Like almost everything else in her life, it was all fake - a shiny, glitzy mask to hide behind.

She shoved her hands in the pockets of her jacket sullenly and continued walking, past the displays, past the gift shops and outside. The sounds and smells of the city slammed into her and she had to take a moment to savor it.

She was free. Her heart was still raging with what felt like every conceivable emotion, but she was free.

She hopped onto the first city bus she saw, not caring at all where it was bound. She settled into a window seat and gazed at the city drifting by. Eventually her luck would run out, John wouldn’t be able to stall for her any more and somebody would be sent to retrieve her.

It was a half hour before she spotted someone staring at her from the corner of her eye. The girl was probably her age, vaguely familiar, with an oversized Star Trek t-shirt and constellation print leggings that screamed nerd. She was pretty enough, with a cute face and platinum blonde hair that ended in pink tips, but the expression on her face sent a spike of panic through Emily . The gray-blue eyes behind the thick rimmed glasses were wide with a "holy shit, I know exactly who you are" expression.

Emily knew her from somewhere. How did she… oh…

It was the recently rebranded Lady Lacuna, formerly known as Princess Portal, sidekick to the villain Doctor Magma and Cannonball's archnemesis.

Of all the buses Emily could have picked, on this of all days, it had to be the one Lady Lacuna was on.

Emily forced a smile and made a small wave. The girl returned it awkwardly.

The bus lurched to a stop and the person sitting next to her stood and disembarked. Emily plucked her earbuds out and gestured at the vacant seat in invitation. The girl's lips parted in surprise and after a moment's hesitation, she joined her.

"I'm Emily," she said, forcing a casual tone.

The girl gawked at her. Emily had just committed a significant breach in decorum.

"Uh… Sarah," she answered reluctantly.

They rode in silence for a few minutes while Sarah nervously drummed her fingers on her thighs.

"Okay, I'm sorry," Sarah finally said. "I'm just gonna be blunt and ask you what you're doing here on a city bus."

"Running away I guess," Emily responded with a shrug.

"Okay… uh… why?"

"Well, I just quit my sports team… if you know what I mean."

Sarah cocked her head and screwed up her face in cofusion.

"What do you… Oh! You… oh shit, are you serious?"

Emily nodded.

"Like… for real quit, right? Like you're not switching teams or anything?"

Emily made a face. Oh god, of course some people would jump to that conclusion, why hadn’t she realized that?

"No, definitely for real quit. Retired. Done. I realized I'm just not interested in a career in… professional sports."

"Oh…"

She looked… almost crestfallen. Emily didn't have the faintest idea what went on in a supervillain's mind, for whatever reason, some of them seemed to have a good portion of their identity tied up in their nemesis.

No. Emily was absolutely not going to feel bad for Sarah. They were… what? Enemies? Coworkers? More than anything else, they were practically strangers.

That said, their lives had been weirdly entwined for the past few year and a half. She owed her something, some platitude.

"Hey," Emily said, trying to force a reassuring tone into her voice. "You've got your whole career ahead of you. You'll figure it out and you'll do great… at… whatever it is you do."

Sarah snorted with laughter.

"Oh my god, this is so fucking weird…" she said and glanced at the flashing sign at the front of the bus. "Look… um… I know we're not like friends or whatever, but I'm at the next stop. If you need like a place to crash tonight or dinner, I'm sure my dad would be fine with it."

Emily hadn't eaten anything since before that day's fight and she really didn't have enough cash to buy anything, but…

"Your… dad?" she asked, letting the unspoken question linger in the air between them.

Sarah hunched her shoulders slightly defensively.

"Yeah… um… he's cool though. Like, we've got a strict 'business stays at the office' policy at home."

Cannonball would have declined. Cannonball never would have consorted with supervillains. Then again, Cannonball wouldn't be on a bus going god knew where.

Fuck it, she told herself. Cannonball doesn't exist any more.

"Yeah, sure," she replied. "Why not?"

They stepped off the bus into a neighborhood of cozy tightly packed town houses, corner groceries and little hole in the wall restaurants. Neither of them spoke as Sarah led them down a side street to one of the narrow townhouses, past a garden full of tomatoes and towering sunflowers to a blue door that very intentionally resembled a pop culture reference that was just beyond Emily's understanding.

The interior of the house was… domestic. It was the only way Emily could describe it. It looked lived in, smelled lived in, in a way that was startling to someone who had spent her entire life being followed by a cleaning crew that made sure not a single thing was out of place. Sarah led her past cabinets full of rock collections, bookshelves crammed full with every imaginable topic, and photos, so many photos.

"Hey dad!" Sarah called into the kitchen and a tall balding man with a dusting of stubble on his chin emerged. If Emily hadn't known who Sarah really was, she never would have suspected this man was the infamous Doctor Magma.

"This is Emily," Sarah explained. "She's uh… one of my classmates… Is it okay if she joins us for dinner?"

Sarah's father appraised Emily with the same piercing blue-gray eyes as his daughter. That gaze seemed to pierce straight through to the truth of her. Shit, if he figured out who she was and decided to do something villainous, what was she supposed to do?

His eyes lingered on her black eye and his forehead creased. His eyes darted to Sarah with a worried look. Oh shit… he was worried about the safety of his daughter and his home.

"Do your parents know where you are?" he asked with a slight edge of concern.

She shook her head.

He sucked on his teeth for a moment before replying.

"Alright." He gestured behind him. "Is lasagna okay?"

Emily stared in shock. There was no way he didn't know exactly who she was. He knew exactly what it meant that he had a missing superhero in his home and he was asking her if lasagna was okay for dinner?"

"Uh… yeah, that'd be great. Thank you."

He gave her a nod and flicked his eyes to his daughter.

"Sarah, can I borrow you for a minute?"

Emily recognized that gesture for what it was and made her exit, leaving father and daughter to an urgent hushed conversation.

She drifted through the house and found herself idly perusing the copious photos. Nearly all of them featured some version of Sarah: a laughing toddler covered in chocolate, a little girl in a hospital bed grinning over a box of Legos bigger than she was, a slightly older version dressed as an astronaut for Halloween, a middleschooler winning first prize at a science fair, a teenager and her father posing and grinning devilishly in front of a volcano in Iceland.

One in particular caught her eye that brought a twinge of jealousy. It was the two of them together, surrounded by rainbow flags, Sarah with an incandescent smile and a pink, purple and blue flag draped over her shoulders like a cape, her dad with a t-shirt that said "free dad hugs" and a sign that said "I'm proud of my daughter" with a backsplash in the same colors as the flag.

Emily swallowed a lump in her throat. Her own parents had been less than supportive when she and John came out as a united front. Their mother begged them to please consider the implications to their careers. Their father had grown stonily quiet in a way that terrified her. That had been one of the few times she could remember seeing her brother cry since they were little.

And here was evidence that it hadn't needed to have been like that. There was a world out here beyond her own narrow experiences.

Emily barely knew these people, but everything here in this house seemed so genuine. There was nobody to impress, no reason to keep such an excessive number of photos on display except as a personal reminder of what was important.

"We're not evil, you know," Sarah said behind her. Emily turned to see her holding the photo of her in the hospital bed with the Legos and examining it with a distant expression. Despite the grin of delight, the version of Sarah in that picture was a pale imitation of the version that stood before her.

"Imagine a single father," Sarah continued, "and his daughter gets sick, like really really sick, and they start drowning in medical bills. Now imagine he's got this really specific skill set and the life of the one person he loves more than anything else is locked behind a paywall. What is he supposed to do?"

Emily didn't know how to respond to that. She hunched her shoulders and hugged her arms guiltily. She had sat through many dinnertime lectures on why people turned to villainy, about the difference between A-listers and B-listers. According to her mother, that knowledge was supposed to make them better heroes or something.

Sarah sighed and replaced the photo on top of the piano.

"Sorry," she mumbled. "There's not much point giving you the whole morality lecture now that you're retired. I've just been rehearsing that in my head for a while now."

"No, it's okay," Emily replied. "I get it. I guess that might be part of why I left. The whole system is fucked. My brother is still convinced that he can change it from the inside."

Sarah snorted.

"Yeah, let me know how that works out for him."

"How is that working out for him?" I ask as the pause stretches out.

She makes a half shrug.

"He still believes," she replies. "Like all the hospital visits and charity auctions and stuff he does. He still thinks all those little things make a difference. I guess they kind of do to the people he meets, but it doesn’t do much in the big picture."

I lay there for a while considering that.

"You know Sarah's basically my best friend now?" I say after a moment.

Her lips quirk.

"Yeah, I'm not surprised.”

"Her dad's pretty cool," I say.

She closes her eyes and smiles wistfully.

"Let me tell you, that was one of the weirdest meals of my life."

"So," he said. "Sarah tells me you quit your team."

Emily ducked her head and nodded. Of course this would come up in small talk.

"Have you thought about what you'd want to do instead?"

Emily's fork froze over her plate. It had been years since an adult had asked her that. Everyone just assumed they already knew the answer. Hell, even when they had asked her what she wanted to be when she grew up, she always told them she wanted to be like mommy and daddy because that's what was expected of her.

"Pardon?" she mumbled.

"Well, you're clearly not interested in following in you parents' footsteps. If you could do anything, what would you do?"

"Uh… art I guess. Sculpture."

"The world could always use more artists," he said with a smile.

This was all so absolutely surreal. Two months ago, Doctor Magma was robbing a bank and she and John teamed up with Crimson Condor to take him down. Now she was eating at his table with her archnemesis and he was asking what she wanted to be when she grew up.

He cleared his throat, interrupting her train of thought.

"Since you're here, I figure I should thank you-"

"Daaaaad, nooooo…" Sarah said as she went red with embarrassment.

"What?" he asked. "She's here now. Who knows if I'll get another chance to say this?"

Sarah groaned and buried her head in her hands.

"Thank me for what exactly?" Emily asked.

"That public statement you made about coming out a while back. It meant a lot to a lot of kids. I know it meant a lot for Sarah and her friends."

"Oh…"

"Oh my god, it was awful," Sarah said before Emily could think of a better response. "It's all they talked about for weeks. I had to pretend to be your fan for a month. Like yay, Cannonball is gay, isn't that great? Yeah, it's great, I also spent last Friday getting my ass kicked by her."

"Oh, come on, Sarah," her father chided. "It got you out of the closet didn't it?"

Sarah flushed.

"And how did you respond?" she demanded. "'Hi, bisexual, I'm dad.' You knew already! You knew and you were sitting on that stupid joke waiting for the right moment to unleash it on me!"

He flashed a smile and gave Emily a wink.

"All I'm saying is you did make a difference where it mattered. It's something you can be proud of."

"Oh…" Emily repeated. "Thanks, I guess."

~~~

I'm sorry, I lied. No tattoos in this one because it got away from me. Good news is there's gunna be a part 3

#my writing #ion & emily #lesbian #supervillain oc #superhero oc

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noahvoxwashere · 4 months

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Emrys' Band of Misfits

Finally, after what feels like MONTHS; Emrys' chaos crew is finally finalized!

This is Emrys' main group of Pokémon he swaps in and out of his 6 mon team!

Cello is Emrys' first "catch"; she was a gift from Razia as an egg; and she was raised to be Emrys' service Pokémon for PTSD, depression, episodes and anger-management.

Dies Irae is Cello's himbo of a husband. He was Emrys' second catch, and was saved from a poacher trap [just a Pokémon version of a bear-trap]. His back right let had to be amputated, but he still has fantastic mobility!

Melody was Emrys' third catch on his way out of Hoenn, and Melody was evolve via traditional evolution methods for Milotic; by raising her beauty stat. She was benched after she received those gnarly scars across her scales for about 2 years; but Emrys recently pulled her from the Pasture to reconnect with her again.

Tango is Emrys' stupid little baby bitch. They are a total thief and was saved by Emrys with the aid of a Pink Carbink Tango had befriended as a Sableye pup by his own tribe of Sableye when they discovered Tango's "traitorous" ways.

Jazz and Sonata were caught without minutes of one another. Sonata was a gift from a stranger who didn't want Sonata due to Sonata not wanting to be a battling Pokémon. Emrys doesn't like battling, and typically is a contest-goer; so he happily took Sonata in.

Jazz was found soon after Sonata was added to the team. During a thunderstorm, Emrys found Jazz tucked deep inside a crack in a cave wall. Jazz electrocuted Emrys when he attempted to pull her free from the hole; frightened by his stature. It took some convincing, and promise of lots of yummy food, before Jazz agreed to come out of the hole and later joined Emrys' team.

Technologic, or Techno, was found buried in a landslide in Kalos with her father, a very large Noivern, and a much smaller Noibat. All were injured when Emrys arrived, and in great distress. Emrys rushed all of them to a Pokémon Center where it was revealed that the dad Noivern was playing with the pups when he'd hit an unstable rock within the caves they called home, causing the rockslide that trapped his pups and family in the cave. The Noibat caught under, soon named Techno, joined Emrys on his journey around the world upon the request of the father Noivern, stricken with grief at his loss. Techno was permanently blinded by her injuries, but her hearing and compassion has never wained. She evolved extremely prematurely in Alola due to mental stress and training. Emrys still isn't entirely sure why, but she's oddly proportioned because of her evolution happening far sooner than her body was ready for.

And finally, Arpeggio and Odette.

Odette was stolen from Team Verdant, one of 2 "evil" teams on Sutama. Emrys was a member for a significant time, but fled after stealing Odette after seeing the use and abuse of Shadow Pokémon being used by the team. Odette is fresh to the team, l about 2 and a half months recent; and she has a serious attitude problem.

But she's not as recent to the team as Arpeggio. Arpeggio was caught in present time, 3 weeks ago, for Emrys. Arpeggio was found losing circulation to his back legs behind a dumpster in a Sutama city alley. After rushed to a center, and getting into contact with the trainer who tossed Arpeggio, Emrys paid in full for the surgery that amputated Arpeggio's back legs and "caught" Arpeggio. They have yet to bond or get to know each other due to the recent circumstances.

And those are the cliff-notes for Emrys' Band of Misfits! I hope you enjoyed, I'd love to share more about them in the future!

~NoahwasHere

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xtruss · 1 year

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The Statue of Liberty in New York is covered in haze and smoke caused by wildfires in Canada. Photograph: Amr Alfiky/Reuters

New York Mayor On Smoky Haze: 'Climate Change Accelerated These Conditions'

With New York City being ranked briefly this morning as the city with the world’s worst air pollution, mayor Eric Adams warned that climate change has accelerated the conditions surrounding the smokey haze that has shrouded the city.

“While this may be the first time we’ve experienced something like this on this magnitude...it is not the last. Climate change accelerated these conditions.”

Adams went on to urge for more action towards addressing climate change issues, saying:

Skies in the Bronx neighborhood. Photograph: David Dee Delgado/Getty Images

“New York City is clearly a national leader on public health and climate action and these dangerous air quality conditions are clearly an urgent reminder that we must act now to protect our city, our environment and the future of our children.”

Vermont senator Bernie Sanders and echoed similar sentiments towards climate change on Wednesday, tweeting:

“Right now, 98 MILLION people on the East Coast are under air quality alerts from Canadian fires and, last night, NYC had the worst air quality in the world. Climate change makes wildfires more frequent and widespread. If we do nothing, this is our new reality. It’s time to act.”

Meanwhile, during a press briefing this afternoon, White House press secretary Karine Jean-Pierre said that “climate change [is] a top priority” as tens of millions of Americans remain under air quality alerts.

A helicopter waterbomber flies above the Cameron Bluffs wildfire near Port Alberni, British Columbia, Canada, on Monday, June 5, 2023. Canada is on track to see its worst-ever wildfire season in recorded history if the rate of land burned continues at the same pace. Photograph: Bloomberg/Getty Images

Smoke billows upwards from a planned ignition by firefighters tackling the Donnie Creek Complex wildfire south of Fort Nelson, British Columbia, Canada June 3, 2023. Photograph: BC Wildfire Service/Reuters

Smoke from forest fires in Northern Ontario and in Quebec contribute to pink hazy sunset in the city from the Cherry Beach over Toronto. June 6, 2023. Photograph: Steve Russell/Toronto Star/Getty Images

In this GOES-16 GeoColor and fire temperature satellite image taken Tuesday, June 6, 2023 at 6:40 p.m. EDT and provided by CIRA/NOAA, smoke from wildfires burning in the Canadian Provinces of Quebec, center, and Ontario, left, drift southward. Photograph: AP

A man wears a face mask as smoke continues to shroud the sun as it rises behind the skyline of Manhattan in New York City on June 7, 2023, as seen from Weehawken, New Jersey. Photograph: VIEW press/Corbis/Getty Images

People attend a morning yoga class on The Edge observation deck as a haze caused by smoke from wildfires burning in Canada hangs over Manhattan in New York, USA, 07 June 2023. Photograph: Justin Lane/EPA

A woman looks at the Manhattan skyline engulfed in haze caused by smoke from wildfires burning in Canada, in New York, USA, 07 June 2023. Photograph: Justin Lane/EPA

#Wildfire #Air Pollution #New York #British Columbia #Canada 🇨🇦#USA 🇺🇸#Cameron Bluffs Wildfire

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torreshalstead · 1 year

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You make the miles worth it - Chapter 21

Summary - The Chicago Marathon had always been a dream for Hailey. And when she meets a stranger in pink running shoes whilst training, she realises maybe she had been dreaming for more.

Chapters - 22/24

Chapter Summary - Race day is fast approaching and with Jay still in NYC, Hailey makes a trip to visit Michael.

Notes - I can’t believe we are so near the end! See you next week for race day! Thanks for all the support, I really hope you enjoy this chapter! AO3 Link

1 week to go

The marathon was in just 7 days. Jay was still relatively positive that he would be back in time, they were still discussing running together, getting excited about completing the miles and getting to that finish line. He had to be back on Saturday with enough time to go to the expo and pick up his race number. The rules were strongly enforced and everyone had to collect their own. So if he wasn’t back in time for that, then he wouldn’t be able to run.

They were still keeping contact with each other everyday, texts as often as they could and a couple of phone calls dispersed through the days. But as each day was ticked off the calendar, Hailey’s hopes were dimming. She knew Jay was a good cop, a great cop even. But even a great cop couldn’t predict how long it would take to close a case. And this case was clearly stretching even the FBI’s extensive resources.

3 weeks to go - Expo Day

Walking into the McCormick Place Convention Center surrounded by hundreds, thousands of other runners was like nothing Hailey had ever experienced. The air was alive with excitement. People from all walks of life, from all over the world were all together in this hall for the same reason. This weekend they were all taking to the start line to be part of one of the largest marathons on earth. And if everything went to plan, they would all be crossing the finish line too.

She let the excitement infect her, the smile fixed firmly to her face as she waited in line to collect her race number. When she got to the front and showed her pass, the volunteer behind the desk retrieved the envelope from one of the boxes behind him. Pulling out the number to show it to her, Hailey felt all of her emotions bubble up to the service. H-55055. That was the number she would wear on her chest through the 26.2 miles the next day.

‘Best of luck’, the volunteer said with a smile as he handed the pack over.

‘Thank you,’ Hailey said quietly, still staring at the number in front of her. It was finally real, finally happening.

Next stop was the back of the next hall to collect her finisher shirt. Walking past the large number of stands in the hall, selling any type of Chicago Marathon merchandise that you could dream of. People buying hats, shirts, hoodies, shorts, shoes, socks. It was all plastered with the city flag, the race logo or just Chicago emblazoned across the front.

Collecting her shirt and the other freebies for being a participant, Hailey wandered around the rest of the expo, perusing the merchandise. Her mind drifted to Jay, wondering what he was up to right now, wishing he was by her side. They’d be laughing at some of the bold printed socks, collecting all the free samples and enjoying each other’s company. She pushed that thought to the side of her brain for now, not wanting to take away from being present in the moment.

About an hour later, her bag slightly heavier than it had been when she had entered thanks to the addition of some new limited edition running sunglasses and a Christmas tree decoration in the shape of the medal, she made her way to the exit. Stopping at one of the photo opportunities, she got a stranger to take a photo of her with her bib in front of it. She sent it to both Jay and Vanessa with a couple of nervous face emojis. She might be physically here alone but she still had people supporting her no matter where they were right now.

1 day to go

The marathon was tomorrow. And Jay wasn’t here, he had called her yesterday evening to give her the bad news; the case was still not closed and he wouldn’t be back until the next week. She had kept it together on the phone, put on a brave face and told him she would give him a play by play when he got back. But once she was off the phone, the waterworks couldn’t be stopped.

She had known this would be a possibility, ever since that night at Molly’s when he had got that dreaded phone call. But in her heart she had always hoped it wouldn’t be true, that he would call her and say he was going to the airport. That he was coming back to Chicago. Coming back to her.

Vanessa had crawled into bed with her that evening, holding her best friend tightly and letting her cry. Hailey knew she could do it without Jay, that she had trained hard enough for her body to be able to complete the distance and cross the finish line whether he was by her side or not. But that did nothing to alleviate the feeling in the pit of her stomach that it might not be quite as special if she didn’t have him next to her.

When her alarm had gone off that morning she had groaned and angrily jabbed her finger at the snooze button. She had the day off but had promised herself she would visit Michael today. She was running tomorrow for both of them and she wanted to tell him how close she was to finally reaching the goal they had set out.

The weather was sunny but still cool when she walked towards the cemetery, a classic October Chicago day. If the weather stayed the same for the next 24 hours, it was going to be perfect race day weather as Jay would have said. Hailey smiled to herself as Jay’s voice echoed through her head.

‘So we want it to be sunny, a little chill in the air but minimal wind. That’ll be perfect race day weather Hails’, Jay said cheerfully as they ticked off another mile of their Sunday morning run.

‘It’s Chicago in October Jay, the weather could be doing anything,’ Hailey said with a chuckle. In the past few years, race day had brought wind, rain, snow, sun and heat. Any weather you could think of, there would have been a Chicago Marathon that was completed under those conditions.

‘I’m manifesting it Hailey, it’ll happen,’ Jay said firmly. ‘I know it.’ He flashed her a grin and she smiled in return.

She approached Michael’s headstone slowly.

‘Hey Mikey,’ she said quietly as she stood before it. ‘Sorry it’s been so long.’

She reached down to check the level of moisture in the ground. Finding it dry enough, she sat down, crossing her legs in front of the carved marble. Picking at the grass surrounding the area, giving her something to do with her hand, she started to talk.

‘It’s the marathon tomorrow. I know we always said we’d do it together but I’m carrying you with me tomorrow. Training has been good, and I made a new friend’, Hailey smiled. ‘I guess he’s a bit more than a friend really,’ she chuckled. ‘You’d like him Mikey, he’s a good guy. His name’s Jay and we agreed to run together. He’s doing it for his Mom who passed, and I’m doing it for you, so I guess us doing it together made sense’.

‘He’s a cop, a really good one from what I’ve heard. But he’s in New York right now, working with the FBI. Big deal I know,’ she chuckled again. ‘So he’s not going to make it back in time. I’ll be running it by myself.’

‘Well not really by myself because I know you’ll be with me but it’s still not quite how I had it planned. Make plans and God laughs, isn’t that what you always used to say? But in reality Mikey, I think he’s it. Since you left, I haven’t really let anyone in, couldn’t risk getting my heart broken again, but Jay somehow snuck his way in.’ She quickly wiped a tear from where it had escaped. ‘He knows everything, everything about you, about me, about what we went through when we were kids. And he never ran away. And I pushed him away, I really did but not because I didn’t care. The opposite really, I cared too much and I was scared.’

‘But you always said it was okay to be scared, as long as you didn’t let it stop you doing things you really wanted to do,’ she smiled at the memory. ‘Guess I still need to learn to listen to my big brother’.

‘I wish you were here to meet him though, I know he’d get your seal of approval. I’ll bring him to visit you when he gets back, maybe I won’t be so scared by then. By then I’ll be a marathoner. Imagine that Mikey, an actual marathon finisher.’

Hailey fell silent and continued to pick at the grass in front of her, letting her mind wander as the blades ran through her fingers.

‘I can’t stay too long Mikey, gotta start carb loading for tomorrow,’ she chuckled softly. ‘But I wanted to tell you that I’ve decided I’m going to go to college. I know it’s late and I’m older now but it’s been in the back of my head for years. I always thought it was just a pipe dream, not something I could actually do. But then Jay came into my life and showed me that I could. I’m not one hundred percent sure of my major yet but I know I want to help people. People like us.’

‘It’s a change, a big change, but I’m excited about it. I’ve done my time at the restaurant and I’m ready for a new chapter. I know you’re saying it’s about time I did something for myself.’ She smiled softly. ‘When I walk across that stage at graduation, I know you’ll be so proud of me.’

‘I miss you,’ Hailey whispered. ‘It’s not fair that you’re not here. But tomorrow, I’ll be thinking of you a little more than I normally do. Those miles are for you, for us.’

She got up and dusted any stray ruminants of grass off her jeans.

‘Love you Mikey,’ she rested her palm against the cold stone. ‘Cheer me on tomorrow, I’ll be listening.’

#upstead #chicago pd #jay halstead #hailey upton #jay x hailey #upstead fic #chicago pd fanfiction #one chicago fanfiction #upstead fanfiction #chicago pd fic #upstead fanfic #chicago pd fanfic #one chicago fanfic #one chicago fic

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asyamill0222 · 8 months

Text

Oh, hi everyone! This is my blog where I will share with you my little fanfics about Keegan. At the moment, this is one of my works (don't judge too harshly)

My Soldier🫡❣️ (1 part)

An American military base located on the outskirts of the city, under heavy guard by the best of the best. In the center of the area there is a bright, two-story building, decorated with white and blue tiles. Large windows attracted the view, and numerous Military personnel were in a hurry in all directions. There was complete chaos going on in the area. The commanding voice of one Military man who, waving his arms, indicates what to do, another with the words “Yes, sir!” completes the task. He is clearly just a trainee, and he is far from the elite and he knows it. So he tries his best. A young girl, having just graduated from the University, somehow miraculously ended up at the invitation of her Uncle Admiral in the Military Unit. She couldn't refuse such an opportunity. And after passing the exam, she was undoubtedly accepted. The girl is tall, about 175 centimeters exactly, dark wavy hair just below her shoulders, and her eyes.. The eyes are something with something. Otherwise it would be called heterochromia. For one eye is sky blue, like the clearest ocean in the world. And the second is brown, like the freshest coffee, to which no milk has been added, gently pink lips, a straight nose and beautiful facial features. The Girl herself is no more than 25 but no less than 20, about 23 years old. On the one hand, she is thin and slender. On the other hand, strong and independent. It is with her strong, slightly inflated physique that the Girl catches the eyes of Men. However, the Lady does not seem to pay attention to this.

Going inside the building, where men in uniform were walking around everywhere. Jenna, finding a familiar silhouette in the crowd, smiled warmly and headed towards the outline. Coming closer, the young lady put her hand on the shoulder of a middle-aged man. By his appearance you can tell that it’s time for the Man to retire, but he’s still a lively guy. The man turned around and smiled joyfully......

------- Jenna! Glad to see you, dear!

The Man said enough and embraced the Girl in a light embrace.....

-------- And I'm glad to see you Uncle Walter!

The young lady hugged the man.....

-------- Glad that you will now become part of our Military team. I'm sure you'll like it here, especially since there are a lot of different guys here. Maybe you'll find someone for yourself.

The man playfully pushed Jenna on the shoulder, the Lady rolled her eyes a little and sighed heavily.......

-------- Uncle Walter, I will work here. I'm not looking for a betrothed.

-------- OK I understood. I won’t get too ahead of myself, but for good service I can send you somewhere else. Wherever you want!

--------- This is great news, Uncle!

--------- But I told you this in confidence. So let's forget. And let's go meet your colleagues.

--------- Are there any Girls there besides me?

--------- Of course not. Girls prefer to sit and wait near the fireplace in their house for Guys than to go serve. That's why you're one of the Girls in this squad.

The man patted Jenna on the shoulder and grinned. The girl clearly appreciated such humor. Later, coming outside, the Admiral pointed to a seemingly small boxing ring. Where training was carried out with 5 soldiers who were eager to kick each other's ass. The young lady examined the tactics of the maneuver with interest, clearly immersed in her thoughts. Five muscular, stunning men who just touched your soul......

------- Watch attentively.

The Man ordered and pointed to one of the soldiers.......

-------- This is Logan Walker. Son of Elias Walker and younger brother of David "Hash" Walker. When he passed all the tests on the battlefield, he became a member of the Ghost Squad after being rescued by Elias and the Ghost Squad itself. He is the right hand man of Keegan Russ. He is now 31 years old.

The man rubbed her chin and again pointed at one of the soldiers.....

--------- Keegan Russ, fighter of the "Ghosts" squad. He is the team's sniper. He is just as fluent in bilingualism as Logan. He is currently the captain of their team. He loves to be obeyed and does not tolerate obedience. Performed many successful operations. Moreover, despite his leadership, he is quite silent. And older than his operatives, he is 33 years old.

Jenna nodded understandingly, but in her head she was developing a plan on how to get Keegan to talk.......

--------David "Hash" Walker. Older brother of Logan Walker and son of Elias Walker. We have a whole dynasty of this family in our squad. Since he is older, he is 32 years old.

--------- Thomas Merrick. Or just Merrick. Another soldier of the Ghosts team.

--------- Why "Ghosts"?

The Young Lady asked.....

--------- Because they have stealth and incredible tactics. You will be with them.

-------- What?? Why??

Jenna said indignantly, crossing her arms over her chest.....

--------- You have been assigned here, remember, for your good service, I will send you somewhere else. Be patient a little and try to find a common language with the Guys. Especially with Keegan. He doesn't like it when there are girls in his room.

The young lady hissed in annoyance, because it would be difficult for her. Later the Admiral shouted and the Guys looked at the Man. He showed a gesture, and the Soldiers abandoned training and headed towards him. The girl froze in place, because she was not ready for this........

------- Meet the fighters, now this is your colleague. Jenna Anderson, recently graduated from the University and I hope you get along.

The man looked at Keegan, who was not particularly happy with Jenna. However, the Young Lady managed to discern feelings of Hatred and lack of trust in her light blue eyes through the mask. Which made the Lady feel uneasy. The man patted the Girl on the shoulder and smiled warmly. And then he soon disappeared from sight. Jenna sighed with relief, but a shiver ran through her body when one of the Guys approached her and bent over a little......

-------- So these are lenses? Or one of the regular operations to change eye color?

Merrick asked, looking into the Young Lady’s eyes.....

------- This is heterochromia.

The Girl answered in a calm voice. While inside her the world was falling away under her feet from the dark eyes of men.......

--------- OK. Listen, this is not a resort and the concept of “weekend” does not exist. Here we serve, and we don’t give any favors to anyone. The main thing is, try not to get in the way and not get into trouble. Today you are here, and tomorrow you are gone. It’s unlikely that anyone will come to help, so you don’t have to hope. Have you expressed yourself clearly enough?

------- Extremely.

Jenna said calmly, crossing her arms......

------- Great, then now we'll go to warm up. A short cross-country run around the stadium, then rope crawling, then push-ups. All clear?

---------- Yes sir.

---------- That's great, try to keep up.

The young lady nodded positively. The guy grinned, and then everyone followed Keegan. Having reached the stadium on the territory, the Blue-Eyed Guy commanded, and the group ran lightly after the Commander. They ran like this for about 2 hours, and Jenna was tired of running because she was already exhausted, but she didn’t want to give up. Having finally finished her run, the Girl was able to rest by collapsing straight onto the asphalt. A few guys chuckled a little. And then they helped Baryashna get up from the cold asphalt.......

------- This is not a recreation center or a resort. Here they test your strength. And they decide whether you can participate in the Battle. So get your act together. We have a lot to do.

Jenna just nodded at Logan’s words and, gathering her strength, continued her training. So the Girl spent the whole day with the Guys. And late in the evening, having said goodbye to everyone, the Young Lady headed to her room in the building. Going inside, Jenna sighed with relief. My legs and arms hurt terribly after training. The lady approached the bed and collapsed tiredly onto it. So an hour passed, two, three. But sleep never came to the Girl. Tossing and turning in bed, Jenna was completely lost in herself. And she knows what she is thinking about, or rather about whom. And those light blue eyes that never gave me peace. Amazing physique.

- But why?! – the Lady hissed indignantly, hitting her head on the pillow. - What’s wrong?! – the fidgeting on the bed was already starting to irritate you quite a bit. Getting out of bed, She went to the table and poured cool water from the jug. Having come to her senses a little and calmed down her irritation, she began to run circles around the room. It was 2:30 on the clock. Giving up on sleep, you changed clothes and headed to the gym. Jenna decided that training would be better than suffering due to insomnia. Too much time and effort was spent to become the best, but I understood that you could not become better than your current colleagues, and especially better than the captain and part-time your patron in the squad. Always look up to him, always take an example. Today's sparring showed that the Young Lady's efforts were not in vain, although if you had not been distracted by one man who was extremely interesting to you, everything would have turned out much better.

“Keegan fucking Russ..!”

All the captain’s instructions fell on deaf ears, all the teams drowned in the pool of blue eyes, as soon as you met his gaze. You were literally stuck. It's a pity that nothing can work out for them. The only thing that binds you is work. And with her, feelings are a loss.

“Fuck!”

Approaching closer to the entrance to the gym, the Lady realized that there was someone there. Having opened the doors slightly, you froze at what you saw - Keegan himself was pounding the punching bag as hard as he could.

The gaze slid over his tense body - in the dim light of the fluorescent lamps he was fucking Apollo.

≤ You fucking...! ≥

Walking behind the man, for some reason the Girl really didn’t want to make any sounds - he was pounding the pear too desperately. She went to the table and began wrapping special protective bandages around her hands, and from under half-lowered eyelashes she continued to watch this perfect man. It became increasingly difficult to maintain composure. There was silence in the hall - the sounds of blows stopped. The man turned around sharply and froze - your eyes met. And it seems you heard the gnashing of his teeth........

- How long have you been here? Russ was the first to break the silence.

His hoarse, low voice sent shivers down my spine and my body trembled.

#keegan p russ #call of duty #keegan russ

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